Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 120475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 482(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 482(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
Realizing all this, I scrap the scene I had in mind for the night and lead her instead to the throne with a spotlight shining down on it.
“Isn’t this a… queening chair?” She arches an eyebrow at me. “You want me to eat your ass?”
Oh, sweet dove. I’m glad for the mask so I don’t have to stifle my smile. I reached down to grab the hem of her dress, whipping it off over her head in one smooth motion to reveal the black negligee beneath.
“Sit before I make you.”
Her big eyes widen before she smirks. “As if you could.” She flips one of her pigtails and then sits down on the chair.
If one can call it that. The queening chair is a type of chair that’s missing most of its seat. Two padded lengths run down the width of where a chair seat would be, and I strap her thighs to them. I do the same to her forearms on the padded arms of the chair, then tie her ankles to the chair legs.
Her chest moves up and down, and she strains against the constraints, swallowing hard. Her nipples pebble in the black silk negligee she’s wearing.
I stand back and take her in, cock stiffening in my pants. I’m not wearing leathers, just dark jeans. The denim stretches a little, but not enough. With the stainless steel cock ring I put around my cock and balls before we left, what I have planned will be a perfect torture. For both of us.
With her strapped to the chair like this, I couldn’t even get at her perfect little cunt even if I wanted to.
At least not with my cock.
“What now?” she whispers, luminous eyes still so fucking big. She’s breathless and waiting for my next move.
Which is exactly where I want her.
She’s the most fascinating woman I’ve ever met.
Am I serious about her?
Yes.
But what if I’m just a passing fucking fancy to her?
Time to make her crave me as much as I’ve craved her from the first time I met her.
I drop to the floor, lay on my back, and fit my head in the leather hammock hanging beneath the legs of the chair.
Her sex smells fresh, clean, and salty-sweet. A drop of her moisture glistens at the top of her pretty, pretty pussy.
“What are you doing down there?” she calls.
Always so impatient.
I breathe out so she can feel my warmth against her petals.
And enjoy feeling her ankles shiver against my shoulders.
Why haven’t I thought of this before? My cock strains fully hard against my zipper. So much more fun to torture us both. I do so love it when she swears she hates me.
They say anger increases one’s heart rate and blood pressure, as well as sharpening the senses.
It’s always been my favorite emotion. And the most useful, if you ask me.
I’ve been furious at my father for almost a decade, and look how far it’s taken me. I think Moira could do with some good anger in her life, frankly. She can practice on me. And that’s how it makes me so fucking hard. But I’ve always been a fucking selfish little monster underneath, haven’t I?
I chuckle, pull down my mask, and extend my tongue to take a long, lingering lick up God’s juiciest cunt.
She shudders above me, her pussy lips fluttering, little opening puckering like she’s clenching. But there’s nothing to clench on.
I smile, head comfortably laid in the head hammock. Waiting.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.
“Goddammit, you sadistic motherfucker,” she squeals, “again alre—”
But before she can finish the demand, I start to suckle her clit.
The ecstatic, grunting squeal that comes from her throat is truly a thing of wonder.
As is her colorful string of curses when I stop again for an extended period.
But I’m just getting started.
“Tell me how much you hate me,” I whisper into her pussy.
“Oh, I hate your smug little—”
A surge of emotion and lust fills my chest as her words cut off when I smother my face with her pussy. She’s warmth and wetness, with an earthy, feminine scent. I lick and suckle again before pulling back.
Again and again and again.
It’s only my years of discipline that allow me to wrench away even when I want to suckle down her spurting juices.
So every time I feel the fluttering of her moist flesh around my tongue that signals she’s right on the edge of coming, I pull back.
“I hate you!” she screams at the top of her lungs, her entire body clenched in frustration at yet another denied orgasm.
That’s right. Scream for me, little dove.
Hate me and crave me.
I want to bury my cock in her while she yanks my hair out of my scalp in fury.
But only once we’re home, and she’s half out of her mind with the wanting that only I can satisfy.